


dear forgiveness, i saved a plate for you

by catteo



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-03
Updated: 2015-04-03
Packaged: 2018-03-21 01:40:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3672756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catteo/pseuds/catteo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This came about when Redbrunja asked me whether I thought Grant would buy Skye a ring in order to propose. I ended up justifying my argument in a rather long-winded fashion. You are so welcome. The Skyeward proposal I GENUINELY never thought I would write.</p>
            </blockquote>





	dear forgiveness, i saved a plate for you

**Author's Note:**

> Um, they don't bang. I'm getting that out there up front. Just so nobody is disappointed. But, come on, you know you're desperate to know how Grant proposes...

He doesn’t buy her a ring.

 

It’s not that he’s superstitious, worrying that having some sort of tangible proof of his intentions will turn everything to shit -- they’ve been through too much for that -- more that it doesn’t even occur to him until it’s way too late.

 

 

+++

 

 

Ward’s hunting through cupboards, leaving a trail of chaos that’s far more characteristic of Skye than himself, searching for Battleship. Usually he’d care more about the mess, but Skye’s been taunting him for the last hour that he’s telegraphing all his moves, and he’s in a hurry to prove her wrong. He’s trying to demonstrate that not punching your girlfriend in the face is not the same as having a tell. That’s all this is. He’s not bitter about the fact that she threw him over her hip as though it was nothing.

 

 

(He’s bitter about the fact that she immediately called Jemma to crow about it)

 

 

He’s mid-way through searching the third cupboard when he finds an unfamiliar shoebox, a collage of birds and sunsets pasted over every inch. He recognizes Skye’s handiwork immediately. Ward doesn’t mean to pry, but the lid’s off before he really thinks it through. That there might be a reason that this particular box isn’t something he’s seen before.

 

 

Smiling faces look up at him. Some that he hasn’t thought of in years. Some that haunt his nightmares. Trip beams out, his face caught in a never-ending grin, and Ward feels an ache in his chest for Skye, still mourning her friend after all this time. He sees a flash of blue under a couple of pictures, a color he thinks he recognizes. He pushes photos of birthdays and anniversaries to one side and finds a small bundle of photos, carefully tied with bright blue ribbon.

 

 

He recognizes it instantly, his heart skipping a beat as the implications come crashing down around him. He undoes the ribbon, twining it carefully around his fingers, and fanning the photos out as he does. There are only five in the stack. One of the team, taken three days after he hauled Skye out of her van, all of them wearing forced grins and looking so young. The weight of foolish choices and betrayal not yet heavy on their shoulders.

 

 

The second makes him grin. Fitz and Simmons surrounded by monkeys. Fitz with a beaming smile on his face, a monkey perched on each shoulder, and Simmons caught mid eye-roll. The timestamp in the corner reveals that it’s only eight months old. Some things never change.

 

 

He and Skye stand looking up at each other, smiling as though they’re in a world of their own. He remembers Fitz taking this, the night before they broke ground on the cabin. The sky painted gold and amber, with the warmth of the day still drifting across their skin. Skye’s face grinning up at him. He remembers wondering how he ever managed to make it to that time and that place. How he ever managed to get there with _her_.

 

 

The final two are the only pieces of her family that Skye has left. The first is Cal, arms carefully embracing a baby whose eyes aren’t even able to focus, a gentle smile on his face as he looks down. Cal’s a distant memory, but Ward can understand why Skye keeps this reminder, irrefutable proof that time can make monsters of us all. The man in the photo looks nothing like the Cal that finally swore to leave Skye alone. That man was a broken shell. This one looks down at his child as though the future is full of promises. Ward wonders at the twist of fate that allowed him to get the second chance that Cal never had. He catches himself as his fingers drift towards his right side, subconsciously reaching for the moment that finally stopped him from mistaking dangerous obsession for love.

 

 

Jiaying looks up at Ward from the last picture, so like Skye that Ward can’t help smiling back. He remembers the day that Cal left, handing Skye these pictures and a promise that he’d never come back. That he’d let her forge her own life. Let her be happy. He said that he owed her that. For the memory of her mother. Ward never expected him to leave, so sure of that fact that he spent a sleepless week aiming a rifle at a door that never opened. No different to the months before that, where Cal kept putting in unwelcome appearances and Skye developed bruised shadows under her eyes. The only reason Ward didn’t put Cal out of his misery once and for all was that he could see the shadows of his own past mistakes in the other man’s eyes. But in the end it turned out that Cal’s love for Skye was stronger than any of them had anticipated. That’s something that Ward can understand.

 

 

He starts as he hears Skye calling his name, clearly wondering where the hell he’s gotten to. He’s about to tie the pictures back up again when he finally realizes what his brain has been frantically trying to communicate with him for the last five minutes. The importance of the ribbon.

 

 

Skye’s birthday was six weeks before they met and two months after Hydra came out of the shadows. He never had the chance to celebrate it with her and the team. He knows now, of course, that she hadn’t told anyone else the date. At the time, though, he sat in the dark, counting the days, and tried not to feel bitterly disappointed when she didn’t show up. Ward wonders if maybe he lost his mind a little, staring at the same four walls and picturing Skye’s face. He tries not to dwell on the past.

 

 

The first year he was back with the team, he just gave her space. It was the only thing that he could think of that she’d really want from him. An uneasy truce stretching the silence between them, the air heavy with the weight of unspoken words. It took him months to muster up the courage to tell her he was sorry. It took her less than three seconds to laugh in his face and tell him that it was about time. He still remembers the way her joy felt as it danced across his skin.

 

 

+++

 

 

Nineteen months after Ward was accepted back into the fold and they’re in China on the trail of Skye's aunt. After three weeks of futile searching, Ward has finally realized that they'll probably be up a mountain when it’s Skye's birthday. He wonders when it was that she finally told them the date. He tries not to hate himself for all the reasons why he wasn’t there. Some days he’s more successful than others. Ward’s spent the better part of a week trying to decide if he should get her something. Wondering whether they’ve come far enough that she’ll accept anything from him that isn’t advice about ammunition or how to twist her hips to put more force behind her blows. He rather uncharacteristically decides to let fate sort everything out for him, mumbles some half-hearted explanation and excuses himself from lunch with the team, opting instead to take a walk into the village three miles away.

 

 

He doesn’t really have a purpose in mind, just needs some time alone to clear his head and sort out the mess of conflicting scenarios in his head.

Skye walking away.

Skye refusing to take anything from him.

Skye throwing a gift back in his face.

Skye staring up at him with a heavy weight of sorrow in her eyes that almost drives him to his knees every time.

Skye staring at him as though she’s trying to work out if he’s really who he claims to be.

 

 

_Skye_.

 

 

An hour later and he still hasn’t come to any firm conclusions about whether he should buy her a gift. He wonders if he should just keep walking. Come back after it’s all over, with an excuse about a false lead and a bland smile. The only real issue with that plan is that he knows that Skye would see right through him. And he promised her that he wouldn’t lie to her again. A fact that’s less problematic in the field and far more so when she’s asking him if her dress makes her look appropriately fuckable for her date. The fact that he knows she does it on purpose (and that he deserves it) doesn’t really make it any easier to deal with.

 

 

Eventually he decides that running away from his problems never made any of them go away. Three right turns later and Ward finds himself in a quiet alleyway, where he comes across a tiny, wizened old man, drawing pictures in black ink on parchment. There’s an easel tilted to catch the last rays of the afternoon sun and the clear brush strokes give life to simple lines dancing across the canvas. Ward almost walks past, but his gaze catches on a portrait of a woman, her face half-turned towards the sun. The face is slightly blurred and indistinct, but her eyes are crystal clear, and the shock of recognition stops Ward in his tracks. He searches his memory before hitting on a half-remembered regional dialect and stumbles through a series of questions.

 

 

Ward manages to coax out a tale of a woman that the old man remembers from his youth, a woman who carried joy in her arms, and that he still dreams about. Stories of a smile that seemed to hold the secrets of the universe. A tale that ended in legend and tragedy; a village torn apart and a small boy hidden in the ashes. Ward looks down at Jiaying’s face, resting in his hands and buys the painting on the spot, without a second thought.

 

 

It takes him all of a second to feel like an idiot, trying to work out how to give Skye this piece of her history without it becoming utterly awkward. They’ve managed to hold an uneasy truce for almost two years, but this will make it totally obvious that he spends his whole time looking for clues about her and her past. Anything to make her smile. Ward takes a deep breath and thinks it through, comes at it from all the angles. He’s a highly trained specialist and he can fucking give Skye a present without the world falling apart if she doesn't like it.

 

 

But there’s a tiny voice of doubt in the back of his mind -- what if she doesn’t understand why. What if she doesn’t see what he sees. What if she doesn't know what he knows -- that she's everything her mother could have dreamed and more. He has proof now, drawn from an old man's memories, that her mother was here. That Skye has a history. And he’s not going to stop until they find it.

 

 

The old artist smiles at Ward as though he can tell what Ward's thinking. Ward’s too wrapped up in his own thoughts to notice as the old artist produces a piece of ribbon from somewhere. It’s sky-blue, somehow completely pristine despite the chaos that pervades the rest of the shop. The man silently takes the picture from Ward, rolls it up, and ties a neat bow around it before handing it back with a gentle smile. As he walks away Ward thinks that he must have mistranslated the old man’s parting words.

 

 

_She is your dream_.

 

 

Most of Skye’s birthday is spent following up leads. Loose ends that go nowhere, and leave them all progressively more frustrated. The only light moment of the day comes when Simmons produces a cake shaped like a monkey, presenting it to Skye with a flourish. All she gets for her troubles is a dark look and mutterings about wanting to impress Fitz. An exchange of gifts, three slices of cake and two hours of charades later and Ward’s just about ready to run away and never look back.

 

 

He waits until everyone’s settled in for the night, the rest of the team having drifted off to their rooms after hugging Skye goodnight. Ward pretended not to notice the way that Skye kept glancing at him as though she was expecting something. He feels bad that Skye’s clearly disappointed, but there is absolutely no way he's risking everyone else seeing him get shot down. Hunter's barely tolerable as it is, and if Skye’s going to throw his gift back in his face and laugh, Ward doesn’t want an audience. Ward can hear Skye moving about her room, and he only hesitates for a second before tapping gently on the door. Skye opens it with an eyebrow raised like she knows that it’s going to be him before she even sees him. A challenging smirk on her face that’s just daring him to try something. It’s as though she can see through him these days. He’s decided that he kind of likes it. Likes that he can let her.

 

 

Ward takes a breath and hands Skye the parchment, the paper slightly marred with the artist’s handprints and smudges of charcoal. Skye's usually one to just rip open packaging in her eagerness to get straight to the good stuff, but she takes her time. She gives him a puzzled look, the faintest crease between her brow, before carefully undoing the bow, winding the ribbon round her fingers, and unrolling the picture. Ward can’t help staring at her face, desperate for a reaction, and he sees the moment that she understands. Skye is suddenly barely breathing, and he can see the way she's trying to fight back tears. It's the first time he's ever felt okay about being the one to put them there.

 

 

He turns to leave, but Skye’s hand is suddenly on his arm, and the shock of it stops him in his tracks. She’s been so careful up to now. Always keeping her distance. He’d almost forgotten how she sets his blood alight with touch. His body remembers though, bright white heat racing through his veins. She’s careful as she pushes herself onto her toes and presses her lips to his cheek, only giving him a taste of what he craves. She whispers her thanks in his ear and, somehow, he manages not to spill every hope and dream that he has for them right there at her feet.

 

 

+++

 

 

Ward looks down at the ribbon in his hands, wrapped around his fingers, the same way that it once wrapped around Skye’s. He can’t quite fathom that she kept it, that it’s here amongst her most treasured possessions, slightly faded with age, but still the same color as the sky. He wonders just when it was that she decided to keep it. When it was that she made the decision to give him a second chance, and what on earth he ever did to deserve it.

 

 

In that moment, he realizes that he just needs Skye to know that he’s never going to let her down. He can’t really explain why it is that a tiny piece of cloth is the thing that spurs him to action, but he’s sliding the photos back into the box, replacing it carefully in its place. The only thought in his head is that he needs to tell Skye that she’s all he ever wants. He doesn't even really need her to say that she feels the same. Not right now. He doesn't need for her to be ready. But he needs her to know that she's forever for him. His feet are moving before he’s even finished making the decision.

 

 

Ward walks into the front room to find Skye lounging on the couch, Pounce resting his head on her stomach, head pillowed on one arm and her feet slung over one end. Her toenails are painted bright red, the exact color of ripe strawberries, and she’s changed from her workout gear into a yellow sundress. It doesn’t escape Ward’s notice that it’s one of his favorites, that he spends more time taking it off her than she spends actually wearing it. The skirt is currently hitched up to mid-thigh, exposing enough tanned skin that Ward almost forgets what he’s here for, and he can’t help smiling at her complete inability to play fair. She’s idly petting Pounce, who gazes up at her with adoration in his eyes, whilst informing him, in tones that are calculated to carry, that his dad is a sore loser.

 

 

“You’re beautiful.” He says it quietly, reverently, but it’s nothing more than the truth. Ward’s heartbeat pounds in his ears as he crosses the room, white noise that’s oddly comforting in the way that it drowns out his ability to think about the enormity of what he’s about to do. It’s not until he drops to the floor beside Pounce, who shoves a wet nose against his neck as his tail thuds against the ground, that Ward realizes that he should probably have thought this through.

 

 

“Flattery will get you nowhere, mister. I still haven’t forgotten that you accused me of moving the floor to make you lose your balance. As if I would ever do such a thing…” Skye trails off as Ward takes hold of the hand that’s resting on Pounce’s head. She narrows her eyes at him. “One time, Ward. It was _one_ time.”

 

 

“I’ve heard that one before.” He grins as she sticks her tongue out at him. He holds the ribbon up in front of her. “I found this in a box in the cupboard.”

 

 

“Oh you did, did you?” She looks more curious than pissed off, as though she can’t quite work out where he’s going with this.

 

 

“Yeah. With other things that look as though they’re important to you.” Ward’s mouth is inexplicably dry. He doesn’t remember being this nervous in his life.

 

 

“Well, that kind of makes sense seeing as it _is_ important.” Skye announces this in tones that make it clear that she thinks Ward has either lost his mind or has some sort of ulterior motive. He’s amused by the fact that she’s basically right on both counts.

 

 

“Why?” He doesn’t even really know what he wants her to say. He’s ridiculous.

 

 

“Why does it make sense to keep important things in a box?” Skye shifts so that she’s half-propped up on the back of the couch, no longer staring at him sideways. It makes her smirk that much more obvious.

 

 

“No, Skye, you know that’s not what I’m asking.” He gently squeezes her hand in his own, hoping that somehow his actions can communicate everything he’s suddenly too terrified to say out loud.

 

 

“Fine.” She sighs, “You’re really good at this interrogation thing, anyone ever tell you that?”

 

 

“Don’t change the subject.”

 

 

“It’s important because of what it represents.” As she says it she uses Ward’s hand to pull herself to sitting, tucking her legs underneath her as she does. Pounce lets out a small whine of disappointment at the loss of Skye’s lap before lying down next to the couch. Ward doesn’t say a word, just waits as Skye stares down at him, her expression unreadable. “Do you remember what it was like back then?” She doesn’t have to elaborate. Ward knows exactly what she’s talking about.

 

 

“Difficult.” Ward somehow manages to look her in the eye as he says it. He’s not sure if he’s horrified or relieved by the way Skye’s eyes suddenly fill with tears, a watery smile on her face as she nods. Ward has a terrifying realization that he might be screwing up the most important conversation of his life.

 

 

“I didn’t want anyone to know how I was feeling. How close I was to just giving up.” Skye’s voice tails off and he sees her swallow, sees the moment when she decides to tell him everything that he doesn’t already know. “Then you gave me that.” Skye gestures with her chin at the painting on the wall, the thumb of her free hand ghosting across his cheek. She shrugs a single shoulder, an embarrassed huff of air curling into the air between them, before she continues. “I’d run out of hope and you gave me yours.”

 

 

He’s moving before he realizes, one hand snaking around the back of Skye’s head and pulling her closer. He can taste salt on her lips, bittersweet on his tongue as he kisses her. She runs a fingernail down his neck, making him shiver, goose-bumps drifting across his skin. She feels like home, the way she sighs into his mouth and swallows his groan of satisfaction. The desire that’s always there, a smoldering ember, blazes to life at her touch. Somehow he manages to pull away, dragging in a shuddering breath before sitting back on his heels. Skye grins down at him, uncrossing her legs and giving him a glimpse of underwear that matches her nail polish. He fights back the urge to let go of her hand and drift his palms up the inside of her thighs. He pushes himself backwards out of reach of her toes, and Skye pouts as she finds his crotch suddenly out of reach.

 

 

“I need to tell you something.” Ward’s slightly surprised at the tremor he hears in his own voice.

 

 

“It had better be important if you’re denying me sex.” Skye succeeds in extricating her hand from his and crosses her arms, trying hard to fight back a smile, tears no longer in evidence.

 

 

“I didn’t really plan any of this, you know?” Ward stares down at the ribbon in his hands as he says it, trying desperately to find the right words. “ _You_ , I mean.” He loops the ribbon around a finger, creating a slipknot with the other hand. “You’re all I’ve ever really wanted.” Ward slips the ribbon off his finger, and holds it up to Skye, a perfect circle. “You’re all I’ll ever want.”

 

 

There’s a blue ribbon tied around Skye’s finger, her lips are soft against his, and the painting of Skye’s mother hangs above the fireplace. Ward likes to think that Jiaying’s giving her blessing. That, finally, he's earned it.

 

**Author's Note:**

> And then they bang.
> 
> And [this](http://tmblr.co/ZU0_9x1h0PKeL) is the painting of Jiaying.


End file.
